A Study in Drowning

How terrible, to navigate the world without a story to comfort you

Effy laughed again. “I thought you weren’t a romantic.”

“I wasn’t,” Preston said, cheeks still pink. “Until you

You don’t have to take up a sword. Survival is bravery, too.”

What wisdom do you want from a death-marked girl? I can say only this: In the end I learned that the water was in me. It was a ghost that could not be exorcised. But a guest, even uninvited, must be attended to. You make up a bed for them. You pour from your best bottle of wine. If you can learn to love that which despises you, that which terrifies you, you can dance on the shore and play in the waves again, like you did when you were young. Before the ocean is friend or foe, it simply is. And so are you.

The weight of a memory is one thing. You get very used to swimming with it
dragging you down. Once it’s loosed, you hardly know what to do with your body. You don’t understand its lightness.”

Well—I was a woman when it was convenient to blame me, and a girl when they wanted to use me

“I love you.” Effy pressed her forehead against his.

“I love you,” Preston said, voice wavering. “I’m so sorry it’s ruined us both.”

No man escapes his primal fault,

That silent seep of black decay.

Decay is one thing, danger another, I said—laughingly.

But the wise man laughed right back at me, and said—

The sea is a thing no sword can slay.

But stories
were devious things, things with agendas. They could cheat and steal and lie to your face. They could crumble away under your feet.

I’m not afraid to care about you, Effy.”